As Fast As I Can
by Cheylock
Summary: Kenny gets a strange note in his locker and kicks off what promises to be a very interesting night by nearly freezing to death. High School AU. Kenny/Butters, Kyle/Stan background, probably some Cartman freezing to death outside by the end of it. Warnings: Slurs, slurs, slurs, slurs, mentions of past abuse, possible sex.
1. You're Invited!

Kenny stuffs his gloved hands deep into his pockets, sighing heavily and feeling the moisture accumulate against his mouth. He can sense disaster up and coming even if he isn't willing to voice his concerns. He starts to twist his fists, trying to force his hands still deeper, provide his wrists a little insulation from the cold, and realizes he's probably tearing his invitation to shreds. Shit.

He thinks back to this morning, to opening his locker and finding a folded piece of orange construction paper with 'You're Invited, Good Buddy!' on the front in perfect cursive. There were stars and Hello!Kitty stickers, too. He was pretty sure he hadn't looked that stunned or confused since six months ago when he broke his neck putting his boxers on and woke up back in his bed, just like old times.

Before that he hadn't died for almost two years.

When he and the guys met up before class, three out of four of them were holding sparkly construction paper invites and wearing near-identical faces of utter confusion.

"He can't be serious, right?" Kyle pushed his hipster glasses a little farther up his nose, tone of voice insisting that there was no way in hell their friend could've done this in anything but the spirit of extreme irony.

"Yeah, dude. I mean, it's Butters, but…" Stan waved his (blue) invite weakly across his face.

Of course Fatass cackled and immediately launched into a particularly heated diatribe about exactly how faggy and retarded Butters was for having a slumber party at sixteen, and for handmaking the invitations, and Kenny was kind of inclined to agree. Seriously, anyone over the age of eight using this much glitter on anything was kind of asking to be shut down.

But then Kenny realized something. (Dude, you didn't get one, did you?)

Cartman laughed again, that nasty cackle that always got under Kenny's skin. "Like I'd _want_ one of those glittery tampons. You fags have fun getting fucked in the butt while watching My Little Pony."

"Fuck you, fat boy." Kyle's teeth were clenched, and there was an edge to his voice that was clear warning.

Stan stepped forward and put himself between Cartman and Kyle. Kenny rolled his eyes and popped Cartman on the back of the head with his open hand, hard.

"Ey! Fuck you, what the fuck, Kenny!"

Kenny'd walked away without bothering to waste breath, and now here he is, nearing the Stotch house and feeling more trepidation with every step. He sighs again and pulls out the invitation, opening it up to examine its perplexing guts.

_~~~~~You're invited to the 17th Birthday of your good buddy, Butters Stotch, so you be a good buddy and come to his house tonight (Friday) for an extra-special birthday extravaganza! Party games, cake, and good times! 6 PM and sleepover optional!_

And, in the corner, like a secret.

'Hope you'll come, Kenny.'

And then a little, tiny, fucking minuscule heart. What in the hell was Butters doing? They'd been the most casual of friends possible since elementary school, barely exchanging more than a head-nod in the halls.

He sighs _again_, getting more irritated with himself by the minute, and stuffs the invitation back into his pocket before trudging forward through the snow. Only two blocks left; hopefully he won't freeze to death before then.

Even though, given the circumstances, it might not be the worst thing to happen to him in the next four hours, Kenny's still hoping against his blood freezing in his veins. Again.

There's a serious storm picking up, and by the time he knocks on Butters's door he's shuddering even with his parka. He can't even be bothered to make his hands vulnerable to the cold so he knocks with his forehead and then slumps against the door, shaking miserably. He can't remember the last time he's been this fucking cold—the temperature must've dropped twenty degrees in as many goddamn minutes.

He doesn't even register the sound of the door handle being turned, and has no time to readjust his fucking balance. He falls into Butters completely, not even registering what's happened until their foreheads are pressed together, their bodies as close as Kenny's winter clothes'll allow, Butters's arms steadying him, snug around him while Kenny's remain buried in his pockets. Their noses touch and Butters's sweet smile brings an echoing one from Kenny instantly, though he can't quite say why. It's not like it matters, though, since no one can see it.

God, and Butters got _cute_ too, when the fuck did that happen? Well, he'd always been 'cute', but…

A throat's cleared somewhere to his right and Kenny remembers himself, freaks out a little and stiffens, breaks away from the practically cuddly embrace. If Butters's parents see 'The Poor Kid' making googly eyes at their son it's right back to that freaky-ass Christian conversion therapy camp they sent him to when they were kids. Then, Kenny's pretty sure they don't want him in their cookie-cutter upper middle class house anyway, so he arranges his eyebrows as close to 'yes, motherfucker' as he'll ever get and winds up glaring a hole in Stan instead of Butters's uptight prick of a dad.

"Mmpfh?" Shit, if Kenny knew Stan was actually coming he could've hitched a ride, maybe kept a couple fingers.

"Dude, did you _walk_ here? Are you out of your fucking mind, are you okay? It's supposed to be stupid cold tonight, get in here, what the fuck, Kenny." Stan's eyes are a little too soft for real anger, and Kenny's mouth moves into a smile of its own accord, just before a shiver melts his expression into a grimace.

(It's fucking cold outside. You could've text me that you were coming, asshole.)

Stan shrugs, lifts his hands like 'too late now' and 'I'm sorry' all in the same gesture, and then Kenny's being patted lightly forward. He'd say 'shoved' but the amount of force used wouldn't even be enough to knock over a gnome, let alone a 6'2'' teenage boy.

"We gotta get you outta this thing, Kenny, you're gonna freeze to death!" Butters sounds way too fucking cheerful delivering that information.

(How is taking my jacket off going to keep that from happening?)

Butters giggles, the boy actually fucking giggles, was he not notified that he turned seventeen today? "You don't know a lot about gettin' warm for being from Colorado, do ya, Kenny? Just trust me, I'll have ya snuggly in no time." Butters takes his hand, obviously leading him toward the couch, and the moment Kenny has a chance he looks back at Stan, big blue eyes begging for help as hard as he possibly can.

Stan just shrugs again, but he's distinctly smiling, the shit.

Butters turns him abruptly and Kenny's eyes widen, then squeeze almost closed as Butters's hand comes up. So he flinched, so fucking what.

"Hey, Kenny, you okay? You don't mind if I take it off, right?" Butters pets at the fur along his hood and Kenny sighs yet a-fucking-gain.

(I guess. Whatever.) He's just tired now, he doesn't give a shit anymore as long as he can sit down. His legs are getting ready to cramp.

Butters bites his bottom lip and Kenny feels a familiar flare-up in his pants, which is absolutely weird as fuck, but weirder things've happened in this living room, he's sure. "Here goes, then." Then Butters's tongue pokes out between his lips as he starts unzipping Kenny and Kenny can't help cracking up.

The sudden achey storm clouds in his chest are dissipating almost as soon as they've appeared and he almost wants to kiss Butters for chasing them away that quickly. The first unmuffled sound out of his mouth is a laugh, and Butters, always the innocent weirdo, laughs along with him instead of getting that he's the object of the joke.

Who's that nice? Who in the fucking world but Butters?


	2. Oh God, What Do I Do Now?

The next fifteen minutes are spent in a haze of shivering and mild irritation. He's in his one pair of ratty jeans and a paper-thin long sleeved white shirt, because that's what he's got, and it's not helping with insulation at _all_. Stan has been rambling on about how much he misses his dog, looking like such a sad-sack that Kenny's gonna have to either hug him or punch him, and honestly at this point Kenny's leaning toward 'punch'. It's been almost three months already. Yeah, it's sad, but christ, every time a dog movie comes on TV you don't have to babble about Sparky like some fucking child.

Kenny rubs his eyes, watery for some unknown reason, and sighs in relief when Butters eases his way back into the living room slowly, fingers hooked around four mugs of hot chocolate. He has a slightly deranged moment wondering if there's a fourth person in the bathroom or something, and Butters must catch his squint-eyed look, because the other boy giggles.

"I'm sure Kyle'll be here in just a minute or two, fellas. Leave his alone, he's probably gonna need it."

"Yeah, no shit." It's weird hearing his own voice unobstructed like that. Kenny reaches forward to grab a mug and Butters pushes the orange one into his hands before he can even really reach out. A more-that-winning smile is stretching Butters's mouth, something about it so inviting Kenny's mind almost spirals off into sexual before he can help it.

But thinking about Butters like that is weird somehow, wrong, like thinking of a baby deer in women's underwear. Fundamentally, yeah, it's fucking hilarious, but at the same time it's uncomfortable and strange, just…not something you'd want.

Probably.

Maybe if you're Jimbo.

Besides, Butters is obviously just so happy to be being useful. Kenny's sure he'd know that feeling, if he ever was. As for now all he can do is pat Stan on the back and sip his chocolate gratefully.

Stan reaches for a cup, too, and Kenny never thinks much about colors but seeing him drinking out of a cup roughly the same color as the living room walls makes something tingle in the back of his head. The image is just…right. A pleased hum as Stan sips, and then he's smiling just barely at Butters, almost shyly, like Butters is suddenly going to jump him for being more than casual and aloof. Fuck Stan is dumb sometimes. "Thanks, man."

"Well of course." Butters sounds so damn pleased Kenny wishes he would've thought to say thank you before it would sound stupid, but then again, it's not that big a deal, since now rapid hard knocks are sounding on the front door.

"What the fuck? Is someone being chased by wolves or something?" Way more relevant than a stupid 'thank you'.

Butters bounces up to the door like it _doesn't_ sound like someone fatally injured is waiting to share their last moments with the trio clustered inside and Kenny has an absurd urge to jump up and knock Butters out of the way, open the door himself. Nothing says it's not some psycho with an AK. At least Kenny'd come back.

But it's just Kyle, shaking so much he's practically convulsing. Butters doesn't even try to greet him, just tugs him inside, shuts the door, and starts taking off his winter clothes. Like Kyle already said he could.

Kyle's already-wide-from-discomfort eyes go even bigger and Kenny can see him getting pissed from here so it's no wonder Stan's up with the red cup of hot chocolate within a few seconds, handing it to Kyle once Butters gets his mittens off, smiling this smile that pushes Kenny and Butters so far back into the background they could close their eyes and blend in with the wallpaper.

At least Butters is spared the wrath of Kyle, because he gets weird immediately, looking at Stan like someone he hasn't seen pretty much every day since they were four. Like Stan is offering a diamond ring instead of a bunch of sugar Kyle probably shouldn't have.

"What took you so long, man?" Stan probably doesn't even realize he's looking up at Kyle under long black eyelashes Kenny's heard girls at school whine over. Christ's sake, they're just fucking eyelashes.

Butters lightly pat-pushes Kyle down next to Kenny once he's down to his two shirts and jeans, hair a crazy fucking mess but somehow working. And then he does the weirdest thing yet.

He untucks the blankets out from under Kenny's ass on one side, then drags them around Kyle and pat-pushes until Kyle and Kenny are sitting thigh-to-thigh, weirdly snug despite the fact that cold is radiating off Kyle. Kyle looks too outraged to even speak, looking at Kenny like he expects some kind of aid. Kenny can almost hear Kyle's voice in his head—'Dude, you can't possible be comfortable with this.'

Kenny just shrugs and grabs the end of the blanket dangling over Kyle's chest, drags it over to his, cocooning both of them. He's fucking cold and if he doesn't get blankets to himself, he'll share. Whatever it takes to get warm again.

It's when Butters disappears with his coat and socks and shoes and hat that Kyle finally finds his voice. "Dude, where're you going with my clothes?!"

The indignation. The anxiety.

Kyle needs Paxil or something.

"I'm just puttin' 'em in the dryer with Kenny's stuff real quick. I'll be right back, fellas, just sit tight!" Clearly coming up from the fucking basement stairs. Christ, Butters.

Kyle looks at Stan in mild horror, and Stan plops down beside them and plucks Kyle's glasses off his head to clean them. "Hey, that's nice of him. They'll be warm when you head home."

"Oh yeah." Kyle cringes and Kenny fights the urge to roll his eyes, intense though it may be. "Do you think you could give me a ride home? Mom wouldn't let me take the car, that's why I'm so late. My dad won't drive above five miles an hour in weather like this."

"Yeah, dude, but you could always do what Kenny did and walk." Stan half-smiles at him apologetically but Kenny still wants to fucking punch him, what the fuck?

Kenny sighs and leans his head back against the couch, preparing for a speech about how fucking insane that was and the possibility of frostbite and he's gonna get himself killed.

But after a minute or two of nothing, he opens his eyes and has to tilt around to see Kyle's face, his mouth opening and closing, like he has something he desperately wants to say to Stan but all of his words've just evaporated. He gets out 'I'm not' and 'Seriously' before just snatching his glasses back and looking over at Kenny with them on, his eyes surprisingly kind behind the magnifying lenses.

"I'm glad you're alright, man. You already know that's stupid, I'm not gonna say anything else. Just, you know you can text me, right?" Kyle actually looks a little resentful, though Kenny honestly can't imagine why.

"Yeah." Kenny sips his hot chocolate, imagining that because it's tucked into the blankets with him it's acting as a space heater and he'll be warm in no time.

It's not so much that he can't text Kyle, he just doesn't want to. He's got to take care of himself. That's all there is to it.

He doesn't know why it feels okay if they text him first, offering.

"Alrighty fellas! Are ya ready ta party?" It sounds like Butters runs the last few steps and pops around the corner grinning huge, three cone-shaped multicolored party hats in his hand. There's a fourth on his head, with a giant gold pom-pom the rest of them are thankfully missing.

Stan gets one first, followed quickly by Kyle, then Kenny, and Butters runs off again, into the kitchen this time.

Kenny just holds his hat for a moment, eyebrows high and a tiny amused smile on his face. When he looks over at Stan and Kyle, they both have similar expressions, although Kyle is bright red and looks like he's about to say 'fuck that'. Despite the fact that the dude's currently wearing cranberry colored jeans and a Strokes t-shirt he still hates looking stupid.

Stan puts his on first, without complaint, and Kenny snickers as he takes in how ridiculous Stan looks. Kinda cute, but ridiculous. For god's sake, they're seventeen.

He expects Kyle to at lease bitch a little, but after a few more seconds of hesitation it goes on his head, sticking out of his red curls like a mountain out of the jungle.

They both turn to look at him expectantly and he cracks up, can't help it. "You guys look eight again." He lets himself nearly howl for a moment and then chokes it all back, slips his on his head, and raises his eyebrows. "Do I look like a pretty princess?"

Kyle and Stan both crack up, and Kenny's glad it's easy for him to get them to laugh at him. This way it's even.

"Hey fellas? If you're feeling a little warmer how 'bout we go for some cake and ice cream?"

This time all three of the boys laugh even as they force their limbs into motion. Ice cream, fuck. Butters's couch is so comfortable it could be classified as a sinkhole.


End file.
